Sinking Ship
by FiveMetersOfPrussia
Summary: All Roger wants is for Jack to love him. (TW: attempted suicide)


Sinking ship

Summary: In which Roger critiques the interior of the house.

Warning(s): TW: Attempted suicide, mentions of previous attempts, cheating, depression, anxieties.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies.

A/N: And the sadness binge continues. But there will be a happy ending, so stay tuned kids!

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Roger had really never given much thought to the idea of the interior of the house before, it was comfortable and quiet, if a little bland. There were white walls, muted colors, a wood floor that creaked with every step… It had gotten to the point where he could tell just how moody his boyfriend was with how loudly or softly he treaded across the surface. The ginger had always insisted that the place needed more color, that it was drab and almost miserable looking, but he never made any move to go about changing any of it and Roger simply didn't care.

Or at least, that's what he'd thought.

He stared up at the ceiling from his position, curled up at the bottom of the tub, water rippling gently as the breeze from the open window glided across the surface gently, taking in all the strange little cracks and points of the plaster. To him, it looked like veins stretching across the dry, acrid surface, and he found something almost beautiful about the chalky looking surface. As the breeze passed through again, brushing over his knee caps, which protruded from the water like little islands in the vast, silent ocean of the tub, he couldn't help but shiver, shutting his eyes tightly as he tried to resist the urge to sit up. His lungs burned with desperation, with wanting, and he hated that his own body was trying to betray him, to live on despite the constant longing for disappearance.

He was invisible any ways.

As always, though, the second he shut his eyes was the second he began to struggle, to fight with himself to stay submerged, to slowly drown of his own volition… The first sound to reach his ears was water sloshing over the edge of the tub and splashing as it hit the ground, followed by coughing as he choked on the air that his lungs so greedily burned for, chest heaving. He could remember the first time he'd done this, the first time he'd woken up in the hospital after, the first time he'd seen Jack look so completely and endlessly devoid of anything. Roger could tell that he'd been crying, though Jack would never admit to it, and the days that followed were some of the most painful ones that they'd ever had.

For days, Jack didn't say a word - maybe he _couldn't _- and his gaze was empty… Until, of course, he looked at Roger, so hurt, so heartbroken, the constant, silent question of why hanging in the air like a fog. Roger took to sleeping on the couch most nights, unable to bare the weight of the question that plagued him. On the nights that it hurt most to be alone that he would tip toe in quietly and lay beside him, ignoring the pain that would settle into his chest, constricting his heart and making it hard to breathe when the other would roll away to face the wall. Some nights he would just lay there, drowning in self loathing and crippling loneliness, with only his own arms to hold himself and try to sleep, others it would simply be too much and he would slip away just as silently to perch in the bathroom, fill the tub, and try once more to drown.

This was not one of those times, however. It was about midday, and quite beautiful out, a warm breeze blowing and the sweet smell of summer thick in the air. Any other day this would have been a good sign, Roger would sit out on the patio and read, maybe Jack would come home for lunch and sit with him for a while and they would chat and be warm and content to enjoy each other's company. Things would be warm and bright and maybe Roger wouldn't feel so bad for a little while… The discovery of the box of letters under the bed, however, changed everything completely.

They'd started out simple, just silly, friendly little things and for a moment they had made him smile fondly, making the heart wrenching pain all the more real when they turned into something else. Suddenly all of those long, miserable nights made sense, the way Jack would turn away from him, the way he sometimes looked at him miserably, as if he were trying to apologize… The dates of the letters told him that it all began shortly after the first trip to the hospital and followed all the way up to last thursday. A day that Jack had had to 'work'.

It didn't occur to Roger to bother to stuff the love letters right back where they'd been, or to even call Jack and demand a reason as to _why_. It didn't matter why he'd cheated, it wouldn't change the fact that he was completely, madly in love with someone else. Someone who didn't wake up screaming at night and beg him to make the imaginary monsters go away, someone who didn't call him on the verge of tears because someone knocked on the door and they were deathly afraid of one of those monsters being on the other side, someone wouldn't have to feel ashamed of when he invited friends over to the house… Someone that was simply easier to love.

Curling over as he wrapped his arms around himself, he choked on a sob as he slowly rocked back and forth, shaking with the weight of his heartache. He just wanted Jack to love him… He wanted him to hold him and feel safe, for him to kiss him and smile at him like he used to. But those smiles were for someone else, the kisses and sweet feelings were just memories, and Roger was nothing more than just a burden to him now. He didn't want to force Jack to stay on this sinking ship… Even if the redhead didn't love him anymore, Roger would always, _always_ love Jack.

Leaning over the edge of the tub, he delicately picked up the small pocket knife that had been in the letter box, and brought it to the palm of his hand, hissing as the blade bit sharply into his skin. He watched with grim satisfaction as blood pooled into his palm, gripping the handle of the blade between his teeth as he dipped a finger in the crimson liquid and turned to the wall. His hands shook as he wrote slowly, finding a vague satisfaction in the stark contrast between the red of his blood and white of the wall, and laughed a little despite himself. The color really did make it look a little more lively.

He was unaware of the front door opening as Jack came home, turning back to the task at hand as he rested the blade against his wrist, shaking as he tried to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He had to. He couldn't keep asking Jack to stay when he so clearly wanted to go. He just wanted Jack to love him… Taking a deep breath, he choked on a sob as pain blossomed in his wrist, burning as he drug the blade down his arm slowly, shaking as the water slowly turned red.

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_A/N: Aaaaaaand that's all for now! Leave me a review and lemmie know what you thought! Also there will be more, I promise._


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